


Sheer Heart Attack

by acacia59



Category: Queen (Band), The Who
Genre: Crossover, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:43:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acacia59/pseuds/acacia59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is at least one way to nearly give Brian May a heart attack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sheer Heart Attack

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone was wondering how long it would take me to write a Who/Queen crossover, wonder no more. This silly, completely unrealistic, little thing came about because a friend was commenting on how Pete Townshend has used so many guitars while Brian has stuck with mostly one. I took the thought to its natural conclusion and got a fic idea in the process.

“Hmm…well, yes that certainly is sporty. I wouldn’t have thought that turmeric could be used for that. And what about you? How did you get your nickname?”

Before the brunette could open her mouth, Roger Taylor shoved her aside, panting and leaving a trail of disgruntled musicians in his wake. He bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “Brian….there’s, ah…there’s been a mixed up…or something…”

Brian looked at his bandmate in surprise. He’d just been wondering out loud where the drummer was, as they were all lined up just off stage, waiting to go on for the all-star finish. “Roger? What in the world…”

Roger grabbed his shoulders and shook him desperately. “It’s Pete! Pete Townshend! There was some confusion. He’s got your guitar!”

Brian stared at the other man, comprehension slowly dawning on his face. “But he wouldn’t…He doesn’t anymore…My. God.” He whirled, tearing himself from Roger’s grasp and ran towards the stage. Roger followed closely and nearly collided with the taller man as he stopped short a few feet from the platform.

Pete’s arm was raised in the air. As his hand came down in a wide arc, it wrung a howling crash chord from the Red Special. Brian cringed. “Oh, what can we do?” he moaned. He would not have noticed if the earth opened up and swallowed half of the stadium and he definitely didn’t notice Roger slip discreetly away.

“My Generation” was coming to a crashing, feedback-laden close. Pete ripped off the guitar and pushed it violently towards the amplifiers, producing a cacophony of wild noise in the crowded, cheering stadium. Something untamed and emotional seemed to have gripped the Who’s guitarist and he raised the instrument high in the air to the deafening screams of the multitude. Meanwhile, Queen’s guitarist was rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but watch.

Pete hurled the guitar down. Time seemed to slow to a crawl and then lurch into double time as the guitar made contact with the stage. The Red Special did not go easily or quietly and it took Pete several bashes before it lay in ruined splinters across the floor, each hit feeling as though he was smashing the guitar into Brian’s very soul.

Brian wasn’t sure how he even heard it through the noise of the crowd and the roaring in his ears but abruptly a familiar sounding chord split the air. He whipped around to find Roger behind him, wearing a very much intact Red Special and a devilish grin.

“The opportunity was just too perfect. You should see your face.”

“You little fucker! I nearly had a goddamned heart attack. You will pay for this, you cocksucking, motherfucking bastard son of a dirty slag!”

Roger took off running, vaguely shocked that Brian even knew such language. He didn’t need to set any world records, he just needed to beat one aging rock star. Who unfortunately had very, very long legs.


End file.
